


The Storm

by Inay



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: In which things really do not go as planned, Other, The world is still set against poor Lerothis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26640568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inay/pseuds/Inay
Summary: Lerothis, once known as Rahaeth, sails to Northrend in the hope to see the world and let some of his sorrows and broken heart disappear in the sea.
Relationships: Friendships! And stuff, Reference to lovers and family but no direct interaction





	1. If the Wind was in our Sails

The sails and sailors’ voices rise, billowing and carried by a warm summer breeze. Each to their post and each busy, singing a Kul tiran work song, answering the call of the first mate. Lerothis leans on the railing, waving toward the docks. He cannot help but compare to another departure, another goodbye, with him on a ship watching the harbor and a small silhouette disappear. There is no sorrow this time, no dread. He knows he will come back and see them again.

_ Oh, we'd be alright if the wind was in our sails _

_ We'd be alright if the wind was in our sails _

_ We'd be alright if the wind was in our sails _

_ And we'll all hang on behind... _

He watches until he can no longer separate their silhouettes from the crowd, until not even Perselion’s height is enough to guide his gaze and when all are but a colorful blur on white stones. He keeps watching until Stormwind herself is only a silhouette, and until Kur’talos pushes his shoulder with his beak. Lerothis turns and smiles at his two travelling companions. 

“We’re on our way.” 

_ And we'll ro-o-oll the old chariot along! _

_ We'll ro-o-oll the old chariot along! _

_ We'll ro-o-oll the old chariot along! _

_ And we'll all hang on behind! _

Lerothis raises a hand to his curls, offered to sooth the imp hiding within. The other coils around the hippogryph’s neck. Tukbel closes her claws around his fingers, looking at anything but the expanse of the ocean around them. Beings of fire did not take too kindly to ships. Lerothis speaks softly to not be heard by the sailors around them. 

“Do you know where Boralus is? The city on an island, with many ships.”    
  


Tukbel turns her gaze toward him, sparks that would devour the world whole. “I do.” 

“Do you want to wait for me there? You don’t have to stay on the ship.”   
  
He can see her hesitate. How tempting it must be to flee, and he is sorry to have brought her again to a place she so fears. He adds softly, “I really do not mind, I will be fine, and we’ll be in Boralus too in a few days.” 

She shakes her head, the new earring catching a ray of sun through his hair. “No. I will stay with my friend.” 

Lerothis is not certain what he has ever done to deserve such loyalty. He smiles and turns his gaze back on the horizon, where the white city had disappeared. 

“Thank you.” 

_ Oh, we'd be alright if we make it round The Horn _

_ We'd be alright if we make it round The Horn _

_ We'd be alright if we make it round The Horn _

_ And we'll all hang on behind... _

The deck creaks under the feet of so many, and sitting upon the railing, Lerothis listens. They are sailing smoothly, wind in their sails, sea spray in the air. The other passengers wander the deck, not in any hurry to join the small cabins and bunks below when there is fresh air and blue sky. He closes his eyes and smiles to himself to hear one of the children pointing to Kur’talos’ iridescent feathers and pulls on his father’s hand. 

A night elf trader offers the hippogryph a few kind words in Darnassian. 

_ And we'll ro-o-oll the old chariot along! _

_ We'll ro-o-oll the old chariot along! _

_ We'll ro-o-oll the old chariot along! _

_ And we'll all hang on behind! _

The Tidesage introduces himself as Brother Andrew, leaving the bow once they are further away in calm waters to tell stories of the sea to the children. Lerothis whispers for his little imp companion to turn away from the water and listen. Grand tales of heroic battles and smaller legends from his order, of the Tidemother’s protection, of how she never abandoned her people. Do they know they are on a ship that belongs to her? It is by her promise and care that they sail through the world. He laughs warmly when the smallest girl pulls upon his orange mustache. 

Tukbel listens. 

_ Well a night on the town wouldn't do us any harm _

_ A night on the town wouldn't do us any harm _

_ Oh, a night on the town wouldn't do us any harm _

_ And we'll all hang on behind… _

The wind plays in Lerothis hair, pushing locks in his face as, curled up, he writes his first letter. The sea sings for him already, welcoming him back, and he smiles. She would forever be there, long after his bones were ground to dust. It would carry on. 

And there was such a peace in that. 

Lerothis lets the waves carry away his sorrows and doubts. Let them wash away over the pain in his throat, rolling over and smoothing the shards of his broken heart. He let it take away the blood pouring between his fingers and the sensation of a heart he had once claimed trying to stop between his hands, a little silver crescent in a silver bowl, and the fury of his sister. Let the words and the hurt sinks, the broken vows, the absences and the way lightning refracted on fel imbued stones. 

In the end, none of it would matter. 

_ And we'll ro-o-oll the old chariot along! _

_ We'll ro-o-oll the old chariot along! _

_ We'll ro-o-oll the old chariot along! _

_ And we'll all hang on behind! _

He keeps other things in his heart, things that mattered still. The smell of Holly’s little house and all the herbs dangling from the rafters, the way her hair keeps escaping any bounds, the sound of her laughter and her excitement, the taste of a shared cake. The smile of Daelios, all the more real for the sadness he let him see, the sensation of his skin under his fingers, a circle of candles and trust. The brightness in Nym’thea’s eye and the way she still jump and dance when she moves, the relief of getting her back. The solid pressure of Perselion’s hand on his shoulder, and the too rare light amidst his friend’s thunderclouds, a tease traded in the harbor and the care with which he makes little ships. Darmarian’s mask over his anger and betrayal, that slides back into smiles. Caradhir’s discreet presence. 

Lerothis smiles, and looks forward to coming back. 

  
  



	2. The First Letter

_ The letter is destined to “Holly Fletcher, Daelios Longdawn, Dawnwalker family and Darmarian Starstrider”. There is no note wishing good luck to the courier for the delivery, but you can almost hear Lerothis’ laugh. (It is first delivered to Holly’s, trusting her to join the elf part of the family with it afterward.)  _

“I know it has been barely a day since I left, but the Tidesage onboard said he could send notes through the Tidemother’s blessing (however it works, he has not wanted to give me details though he will talk at length about everything else!) and I had to use the occasion. 

I am still well, as is Talos. An albatross have taken to fly on the same path as the ship, and my ridiculous bird decided to compete with it. It was a beautiful spectacle while they were both in the air, white and purple wings gliding above. Talos have lost, of course. The albatross barely needs to move his wings to stay in the air, for all that Talos can stay in the sky for a while. (Daelios probably have more to say about their wings than me, at most I can tell you they are rare and magnificent birds.) 

He caught a fish on his own this morning, good progress. It was an impressive queenfish, and he was polite enough to share some of it with us for the galley.” 

_ The text is interrupted by a sketch. Lerothis is no artist, but one cannot write runes and herbs references for several centuries without getting an idea of how to hold a pen. It’s dark forms in the water, great fishes, dolphins or porpoises perhaps. One is jumping, sketched much more hastily.  _

“There’s porpoises swimming alongside the ship just as I write. I think there’s at least two calves, they’re swimming in the middle of the group. It’s quite adorable, they’re racing us. (And winning for now.) 

We have not seen a whale yet, but I have good hopes as we’ll close on Northrend. The sailors tell me they like to go there in summer, and we might see a few travelling south already. 

Know that I love and miss you already. There isn’t much more to say yet, I’ll write more when we reach Boralus. I hope the shooting lessons are going well, whenever you receive that letter. Good luck to you Darmarian, with being the new teasing target. 

Brother Matthew is making signs that he’ll make his ritual soon, it is time to end there for today. Take care. 

With all my affection, 

Lerothis.

Ps: Holly, Tukbel is doing alright if still not impressed by the ocean.” 


	3. Where We Danced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tidemother's Promise stop to Boralus on the way between Stormwind and the Borean Tundra.

Boralus is heralded by the cry of the seagulls and the voices of its market carried by the wind. Lerothis climbs and jumps through the ropes, out of the way of the sailors but close enough to the figurehead’s hair, to be among the firsts seeing the city. The wind plays in his hair, bringing golden locks everywhere including his face. He laughs. 

Boralus had been a kind city to him, for the little time he spared there. It was pleasant to see it again and watch the approach. 

The ship approach is smooth, the Tidesage and the helmsman showing off to bring the Tidemother’s Promise along the dock in one turn. They had a long experience together, had admitted Matthew one night, being cousins and having served on the same ship for a few years. 

Kur’talos takes flight before the ropes are thrown to the docks, announcing his arrival to the sea gryphons with a resounding cry- yet lost in the hubbub.

Lerothis wishes a good post to the young human he befriended in the journey, walking with her through the market until the garrison she would stay for the night. May the Light guide and bless her, and may the trolls stay away. He had smiled and placed a hand on her head, murmuring a blessing.   
The surprise in her eyes to see the strange elf was also a priest had been most worth it.    
  


  
The market is a riot of colors, traders from all over the world bringing their wares now that Kul tiras have once again opened their ports. Lerothis stops in front of a Tortollan’s carpet, admiring the seashells, asking about the scrolls. Once more he thinks about bringing Holly here. His ever curious daughter would have so, so many questions for them. When he jokes about it to the trader, he gets a burst of laughter that sounds like so many broken rocks. They were always delighted to answer questions. 

\---

He keeps walking, hands crossed in his back and a smile on his lips. The Tidemother’s Promise would stay at the dock for the day, leaving with the morning’s tide. He had time. Lerothis sings softly for himself and lets his thoughts wander as his feet. Not far, not leaving the city. He thinks of another night, of conversation and a bard, of company. Of an inn shaped like a ship, that he is still missing the answer to that question; why was the canal red? He thinks of words shaped like a promise and meant, “You’re still stuck with me, for a little while”, and the possibility of some kind of peace. Just for a little while.

He is still smiling when Tukbel emerges from his hair, observing the press around. She curls her tail around his neck, holding on firm to not be jostled when he jumps to avoid a chariot. “Are we staying here?” 

“No, we’ll go back on the ship at night. Are you sure you don’t want to wait for us on the continent?” He speaks softly, pretending to not see the surprised gaze of a passerby watching him talk alone. 

“I am sure. You scared me.” This might be the first time he hears that little note of reproach in the imp’s voice. He glances to the phased silhouette close to his ear. 

“I’m sorry. I promise, I was fine. Kur’talos would have always fished me out. It was only good fun.” 

“It’s not fun! There’s too much water and you could have extinguish and lost in waters!” 

Lerothis raises a hand to her, gently. “I promise, I  _ promise _ it was fine. I don’t extinguish Tukbel, water doesn't hurt me. I won’t do it again when you’re here, alright? I’m sorry I scared you, I didn’t want to.” 

It takes a little more soothing and promises before the little imp is fully convinced Lerothis will not throw himself at sea, again, just for the fun of it. Provisions are made if someone else falls, to go get them. Another promise to stay in place for two days once they land, so she could go and see Zigrin. 

Finally, peace is reestablished. Lerothis nods in amusement at the polite demand for one of those white gryphons feathers, and retraces the steps taken a week ago. There had been a gryphon master close to that firepit, wasn’t there? 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. The Second Letter

_ The letter is still destined to the heteroclite assembly Lerothis calls his family, with once again the charge for the poor courier to find which home to deliver to.  _

“I hope this letter finds you again all in good health and busy. I am still well myself, as is Kur’talos. We arrived this morning in Boralus and will stay for the day, the time to unload the cargo for the local traders. 

The Tradewinds market is a sight to behold, particularly now as goblins, kaldorei and other traders have joined it. I must take you one day Holly, or drag Darmarian. I am sure you will enjoy the tortollans, they are giant turtles collecting stories. Had I not known I was on the way for a few weeks of travel, I would have been already collecting gifts for you lot. It merely means I’ll get more on the way back! 

The journey have been peaceful so far. Kur’talos won a race against our onboard Tidesage, when it come to fish a man from the sea. Not that I ever doubted him. (The water was excellent Dae, you should try one of those days.) 

Speaking of, while wandering the market I have been able to ask for the origin of the red canal! Turns out there was a slaughterhouse upstream, a century or two ago, and well. It was quite literally red. Now it is only a tradition to paint the houses on that side red. It’s certainly more pleasant that way.    
  


Thalassian songs still seem out of fashion in Boralus. I am sure it will take, in time. They certainly like the other things we do, like our laces and fabrics. 

I have befriended a young soldier and the Tidesage onboard. We are having good winds so far, and should arrive in Northrend quickly after we leave. Probably a few days after you receive that letter, even. 

Take care, and be careful wherever you go. Sun and Light guide.

  
  


With all my love,

Lerothis.”

_ At the back of the letter, a recipe is scritched hastily. “Spotted dick pudding” with a PS reading:  _

_ “Met an old lady on my way to the portals selling pastries, who told me the recipe. Enjoy it!” _

  
  
  



	5. Vague Scélérate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm rage.

Perched among the ropes and railings at the front of the ship, Lerothis watches the sun descend on the horizon. It wasn’t a particularly beautiful sunset, nothing any artist would sing the praises of. There were a few clouds, but they were tainted by a dull purple instead of the glorious orange sometimes reflected on the waves. 

Lerothis had seen a great deal of sunsets in his life, and it must be admitted that this one was unmemorable. 

He raises his face to the sky, listening to the mournful call of the albatross flying above their ship. 

On the east, more and more clouds accumulate, bloating the sky. The second call of the albatross is covered by thunder rolling over the ocean. 

\-----

Most passengers had been led below deck, back to their cabins, to stay out of the way of the sailors. Early autumn storms were not a threat, unless someone got underfoot- and there would be no saving a child dropping from the side in this weather. 

Lerothis hadn’t been. He had enough years in Theramore and ships to be helpful; the captain had not refused another pair of hands. 

Now, as waves were breaking upon the ship and threatening to throw any without a solid grasp on the ropes to a watery grave, as he was holding himself for dear life to said rope and his hip hurt from knocking against the railing, he reconsidered whether his decision had been wise. The sea around them was illuminated intermittently by the lightning strikes, throwing sharp shadows among the masts, great waves crashing upon the deck.    
He can barely hear the captain’s orders among the roars. None of his companions seem unduly worried. The Tidesage wanders the deck, with the certainty of someone who cannot be touched, offering a warm smile in passing. 

_ “It’s a small storm, we’re at the start of the season!” _ he cries above the waves.  _ “That will give Calum something to do up in the riggings!” _ The closest seaman laughs with him- Calum was always up in the riggings, nose to the sky. Lerothis smiles with them, and finishes his knot. 

There’s a flash of white in the sky, an eerie silhouette. He smiles once more, for himself. The albatross was still with them. 

He is still smiling when the Tidesage pales and the captain’s booming voice resonate.  _ “WAVE, BRACE!” _

There were always legends and stories among sailors, known by those who lived with them on shores. Giant krakens, nagas, monsters from far below the surface attracted to the vessels, and little sea pixies coming to steal from a ship’s stores. And there were rogue waves. 

There was no warning to those walls of water suddenly crashing upon ships, no sign, and most of the time, no survivor. Lerothis had heard of them. Anyone spending time on docks would have.   
  
He had never seen one until now. 

  
  


It is a matter of seconds. The dark wall of water looms above the ship as Tidesage and helmsman attempt to turn the prow away from it. Only a matter of seconds to take a decision, and pray it’s the right one. 

The crash of broken wood and twisted metal is deafening as hundred tons of water break on the ship. Half of the quarterdeck lies in ruins, a hole as if hit by the largest cannon ball of the world, the mizzen only a memory. There is no trace of the captain nor helmsman. 

But the hull was still standing and they were floating. The Tidesage raises his hands to the swell and prays, eyes closed. He had the favors of the sea, the blessing of the Tidemother. He could keep her Promise afloat until the end of the storm, until they’ve reached a coast. The crew trust him. They had survived the cruel seas before, they had survived the monster wave. 

There are screams from the passengers below. Some have been taken with the stern.

Lerothis hangs from a rope of the main mast, watching in horror the destroyed stern. Watching in horror what rises behind. 

Everyone living on the shores have heard of the rogue waves. 

They have also heard of the Three Sisters. 

At that moment, Lerothis knew he would not come back. And there was nothing he could do about it. With a hand made numb by his own grip, hurrying, he searches the heart pocket of his shirt for a small crystal, glowing a gentle arcane purple, and he throws his voice far, far away. 

_ “Dearest?” _

His sister’s mind, calm analysis, surprise. She can hear his resignation as well as he can hear the desperate beats of his own heart.  _ “Rae?” _

_ “I’m sorry. I love you, and I’m so sorry.” _ Not acceptance. He didn’t want to die, wanted to come back with an intensity that burned his throat and lungs. There was no word for it, for how much he regretted, how much he wanted to be with her now. 

And then there was no word at all. 

The second wave crashes upon the helmless ship, breaking her masts and her back. The crystal falls from a grasp gone loose, and the high-elf slips beneath the waters.

The third wave breaks what little remains of a once proud ship, no fragments and no pieces left to float. No bodies and no raft. 

When the storm ends, a day later, there is no trace that the ship ever existed. 

  
  
  


_ The Tidemother’s Promise never reached her port, lost in an early autumn storm. Of the fifty-one souls onboard, there was no survivor.  _


	6. In the Abysses I Left my Name

The crystal fell from a hand grown slack, and the man fell under the wood and water that collided with his skull, slipping under the waves. 

It’s peaceful below. Almost silent. There is no longer the roar of the waves or the trashing of thunder, only the currents and the bubbles of air escaping his lungs. He floats.

The crystal gives a last glow above his head, painting the water purple before dying. It sinks faster than him. 

The man’s eyes are closed. There are runes glowing on his ribs, below the shirt, and he doesn’t yet feel the burning that herald the lack of air. His hair flows around his face, blue in the dark, like a siren of stories. There’s no light but the small runes glowing. 

He could stay there. This is fine, he feels very tired and moving would take such an effort. Another bubble escapes his mouth, tilting against his face before racing for the surface above. He still doesn’t feel the burn. Perhaps he doesn’t need to breathe. 

The waters churn around and above, and something  _ sharp _ closes around him.The man is hauled with it, following the bubbles.

They emerge back in the storm, in the clamour and the noise, carried on the crests of waves. They emerge back, the man and the hippogryph clutching him in his talons. He doesn’t try to fly, the winds would punish quickly such hubris. Already the sea drags them under again and again, as the bird extends his wings to keep them afloat.    
Every time they emerge back.

It’s a very long night.

There is no counting hours when everything around is darkness and chaos, but it takes a while before the man gets enough consciousness back to hold onto the hippogryph’s neck. They hold on to each other. 

It was a very long night, and a very long day when the storm still rages and covers the sky. They are so very tired when the sun finally pierces through the clouds and the sea appeases. But they are still floating.

They alternate between short flights and more floating, drifting really. The hippogryph cannot sustain beating his wings for very long, and they are both so very thirsty. A silver fish coming to nimble experimentally on the hippogryph’s legs gives them a little more time. Its blood is salty.

They are still drifting.

\----

Gentle waves break upon the beach, carrying with them a half-drowned man and a bundle of purple feathers. They are laid down in soft sand, the water leaping at their feet, and nothing more.   
The man is still breathing. Sunburned and lips parched with thirst, eyes closed with exhaustion, but his chest rises again and again. On the ruins of his shirt, a silver cloak pin catches the sunlight. The hippogryph lays next to him, a wing half bundled around him.   
  
Behind the cliff, the gracious towers of Suramar rise toward the sky.


End file.
